


to forbear to treat with attention or respect

by elumish



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Neglect, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd is a Good Egg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 12:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elumish/pseuds/elumish
Summary: Jason finds the kid sitting in the hallway.





	to forbear to treat with attention or respect

Jason finds the kid sitting in the hallway.

Or, well, no, not sitting, or not just sitting--sleeping. Knees pulled up towards his chest, back against the wall, head lolling back and a little to the side. He looks young, or at least younger than Jason, but he’s all dressed up in a tux that looks, if possible, even more ironed than Jason’s.

Jason was just heading to the bathroom--partly to piss and partly to get out of the stupid party where everyone talks about rich people shit and looks at him like he’s about to start peeing on the furniture--but this is weird enough to make him stop, because what the fuck.

It must be the kid of one of the rich people at the party, but there aren’t that many kids there other than him, and he can’t imagine some parent just not noticing their kid has fucked off to go sleep in one of Bruce Wayne’s hallways, especially not a parent who’s that anal about their kid’s tux being pressed.

Jason considers letting the kid keep sleeping--anyone who can sleep with this much noise definitely needs it--but the part of him that never really got out of Crime Alley isn’t comfortable with leaving a kid sleeping around this many untrustworthy adults. So he clears his throat, and the kid’s head jerks back so hard he slams it against the wall, letting out a noise of pain as Jason winces.

“Ow,” the kid mutters. “What--” He glances up at Jason, and his eyes go really wide, and then he scrambles to his feet, one hand clutching the back of his head. “Um. Hi. Sorry, I--hi. You’re, uh. You’re Jason Todd, right? Bruce Wayne’s, uh, son.”

“Yeah,” Jason says slowly, but the kid doesn’t say anything else, or make any comment about how weird it is that Bruce Wayne adopted some piece of shit Crime Alley kid, just stares at him with those wame wide eyes. “You gonna give me your name, or…?”

“Oh.” The kid blinks, once, looking a little startled. Maybe he expected Jason would already know his name, like all these rich people know all of each other’s names. “Sorry. I’m Tim. Uh. Drake.”

When he doesn’t offer anything else, Jason asks, “Any reason you’re sleeping on the floor, Tim-uh-Drake?”

A flush makes his way up Tim’s face, and he looks away briefly, but then he goes back to staring at Jason. It’s actually getting to be a bit weird, especially because the staring is less like ‘what if he robs us while we aren’t looking’ and more...something else. “Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot.” And didn’t answer Jason’s question, but to be fair, if Jason had been sleeping on the floor in someone else’s house, he probably would want to explain himself, either. “Anyway, I’m going to go piss.”

He’s starting to head down the hallway again when Tim’s voice squeaks from behind him, “Can I join you?” Jason stops, turning to arch a brow at him, and Tim turns even redder. “Not like--I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean anything weird. I just...also need to use the bathroom, and I don’t want to get lost, and I just kind of assume you know how to find it. Because you live here.”

Jason looks him over, while the kid turns progressively redder, but he doesn’t actually look like he wants to do anything weirder than follow Jason to the bathroom, so Jason just shrugs and starts walking again, but slower so the kid can catch up.

Tim does follow him to the bathroom, using it after Jason, and Jason waits for him because he feels kind of bad for the kid--who must be really desperately lonely to want to hang out with Jason--and because he wants an excuse not to go back to the party any time soon.

And it’s because he doesn’t want to go back to the party, and because the kid looks even more uncomfortable than Jason feels, that Jason offers, “You want to get some real food?”

Tim’s eyes go wide again, and his shoulders hunch, and he says, “My parents--I can’t--”

“No offense, but are your parents really going to notice you being gone, if they didn’t notice you sleeping in the hallway?”

It’s too much, Jason thinks as soon as he says it, but to his surprise, it makes the kid’s shoulders relax a little, and the kid lets out a breath and says, “No, I have to assume they won’t,” in a voice that’s way too mature for how he looks. It sounds kind of fucked up.

Jason doesn’t want to feel bad for the weird rich kid.

But yet, he’s finding himself feeling kind of bad for the weird rich kid, who’s thinner than a rich kid should be and walks hunched over a little like he thinks it’ll make him less likely to be noticed (less likely to be hit) and was sleeping in the fucking hallway, and so he--

“Can I take a picture?”

Jason recoils, everything in him tensing up. Shit. The kid’s just one of those people, and that makes sense, with the staring and all, like Jason is some fucking zoo animal. “I’m not a fucking--”

“Oh.” The kid’s voice goes really small, almost inaudible, and he hunches over even more, but it’s enough for Jason to bite off the rest of what he was going to say and actually look at him. He’s fiddling with a phone in his hand, a nice smartphone with a solid black case that he’s turning over and over in his hand. “Sorry, I, um. The hallway. I didn’t mean, um.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just sort of stares down at his phone turning over and over in his hand. “What?” Jason prompts, when it’s clear that this conversation isn’t going any further if the kid has any say over it.

“The sconces. They’re 19th century, I think, retrofitted from gas sconces, and the way they look lining the walls from this angle is, uh. So I wanted to take a picture. But it’s, you know, your house, and I thought it might be weird to take pictures of your house without asking. I didn’t mean, um. You.”

That’s the most bullshit explanation Jason has ever heard, except when he steps out of the way and gestures at the empty hallway and says, “Go ahead,” in a voice that doesn’t quite manage to not be sarcastic, the kid eagerly lifts up his phone and starts snapping pictures, totally disinterested in the possibility of taking a picture of Jason. And Jason watches his screen, and he never switches it to selfie mode, just snaps half a dozen pictures of the hallway before putting his phone away.

And then he smiles at Jason, the first smile Jason has seen out of the kid, and says, “Thanks,” like Jason did him a huge fucking favor instead of just letting him take some pictures of their fucking wall sconces.

“Yeah,” Jason says gruffly, because his other option is asking Tim what the fuck is wrong with him. “Food?”

Still smiling a little, Tim pads after him down the hallway, surprisingly quiet despite the shiny black shoes he’s wearing. 

Alfred is in the kitchen when they get there, washing dishes in the sink, and Jason says, “Hey, Alfie. You got any real food for us?”

Alfred turns around to smile at them, saying, “Master Jason, I see you’ve found a friend.”

To Jason’s surprise--and, based on how still he goes, Alfred’s--Tim steps forward, saying, “Hello, Mr. Pennyworth.”

Wiping the water off his hands with a towel, Alfred walks over towards Tim. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

“There’s, uh--you’ve been working here since Mr. Wayne was born, there are records--oh. Sorry. I’m Tim Drake.” He offers his hand, and Alfred shakes, it, as gravely as if Tim were the mayor.

“Well, welcome to my kitchen, Master Timothy.” He glances at Jason, smiling conspiratorially, and says, “I think I might have some food for you, if you’re looking for something more filling than the hors d'oeuvres.”

“I don’t--”

“I insist.” Alfred gets them sat down at the island, and in no time there are sandwiches in front of them, and chips Alfred made fresh, and it’s obvious Alfred was expecting him to duck out at some point, given that all of this is already prepared.

When Tim is distracted devouring a roast beef sandwich in small, precise bites, Alfred steps up next to Jason, asking, “What happened, Master Jason?”

Jason glances over at Tim, who is either not paying attention or pretending really hard not to be paying attention, then lowers his voice to say, “I found him sleeping in the hallway outside the ballroom.”

Alfred’s lips thin, and his eyes dart over to Tim. “Oh, dear.”

“I didn’t think I should just leave him out there,” Jason explains, feeling a defensive and not knowing why. He stuffs half a sandwich in his mouth so he can’t say anything else.

Alfred lays a hand on his shoulder, and Jason has been there long enough now that he doesn’t flinch at it. “I’m proud of you, Master Jason.”

That makes him feel warm inside, even as looking over at the way Tim is trying to eat potato chips without making any noise kind of makes him want to hurt someone.

\--

They’re debating the merits of Superman versus Wonder Woman, and Tim is  _ funny _ once he stops watching everything he says and saying “um” every fourth word, and then Bruce walks in.

He’s pretty quiet--he’s  _ Bruce _ , sitting somewhere on that edge between Bruce and Batman that only usually exists when there’s nobody else around--but as soon as he steps a foot in the kitchen, Tim whips around so hard he almost falls off his chair, his shoulders going up to his ears as he hunches back over on himself.

Bruce falters where he is for just a half-second, just long enough for Jason to know that he’s  _ really _ surprised to see Tim there, and then he smiles that big wide fake Brucie smile and says, “Jason, I didn’t know you were having any friends stay over.”

Tim hunches a little further, and then he stands up and says to the floor, “Sorry, sir. I’ll be on my way, now.”

Because Tim isn’t looking at him, Bruce has the chance to shoot a questioning look at Alfred, who must do something, because Bruce says, “No, no, don’t be silly. Any friend of Jason’s is welcome here.”

“I’m not, um.” Tim looks up at Bruce, though it doesn’t look like he’s making eye contact with him. Jason doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. “I’m Tim Drake, sir.”

“Janet and Jack’s son? Why don’t we call them, make sure they know that you’re staying over.”

Tim darts a glance at his watch, which looks way too fancy a watch for a maybe-eleven-year-old to be wearing, then says, “Oh, no, sir, they’re on a plane right now. They have a red-eye to Thailand tonight.”

Without him, Jason thinks, and they just left him here, and he can see that Bruce is thinking the same thing, behind the smile still plastered on his face. But all Bruce asks is, “When are they getting back?”

“Ninety-six days,” Tim answers promptly. 

“Who are you staying with, then?”

“There’s a housekeeper who comes during the day,” Tim answers, sounding happy to have questions he can answer.

Jason wants to hit something. He wants to go out on patrol, but Bruce has four cracked ribs and Alfred will murder both of them if either of them go out on patrol. So now he just has the directionless desire to hit something until the kid’s parents come back home because even rich kids don’t deserve their parents fucking off to fucking Thailand and leaving them alone with just a fucking housekeeper

Ninety-six days. Jesus fuck.

“Well why don’t you stay the night, then, and we’ll figure things out in the morning.”

Tim gives Bruce a weird look, like he thinks Bruce just said something really stupid and is trying to figure out how to break it to him that he’s an idiot, but in the end he just shakes his head and says, “That’s not necessary, sir.”

Bruce gives him a big, toothy smile. “I insist.”

\--

While Alfred is getting Tim situated in a guest bedroom with one of Jason’s t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants to wear to bed, Bruce stops by Jason’s room, easing himself down onto the side of Jason’s desk where it’s not covered in books. He finally actually looks like he’s in pain, his tuxedo jacket stripped away and his bowtie gone, one hand resting on his side where his ribs are fucked.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before offering to let Tim stay,” Bruce says. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re being replaced or ignored.”

“What kind of parents leave their kid alone for three months?” Jason asks, instead of touching all of that stuff that Bruce is spewing. That’s far too deep into a feelings talk for Jason. “And did they not even notice that they hadn’t taken him home before they fucked off?”

“Language,” Bruce chides, but it’s more pro forma than anything else; he looks distracted, in a “Batman Thinking” sort of way. “I'm less familiar with the Drakes than I should be; they're rarely in Gotham for more than a week at a time. I didn't realize they were leaving their son alone when they were gone. I wonder how long this has been going on.”

He drums his fingers on Jason's desk, and after a minute of watching his face Jason realizes just what his expression is. “You want to adopt him, don't you,” Jason exclaims, then lowers his voice when Bruce's eyes dart towards the door. “That's why you had him stay over. You want to make him another me.”

A richer, more cultured Jason, but Jason shoves that thought down, because Bruce adopted him, and if nothing else, it would be a pain in Bruce's ass to get rid of him.

Not that Bruce turning his attention to another kid, a better kid, wouldn't hurt, but…

But Jason doesn't want this kid to have to go sit alone in his house for  _ three months _ , that's so fucked up, and the kid looks too weedy to be Robin, anyway, so at least he probably couldn't take that away from Jason.

And maybe it would take some heat off of Jason at these stupid parties, if there was a kid who actually knew what the fuck he was doing who was around.

“It's not quite that simple,” Bruce says, and he's watching Jason like thinks Jason is about to blow up. “He has two living parents, for one thing. And given our... nocturnal activities…”

Bruce doesn't want to replace him as Robin. Thank fuck. 

The relief from that makes it a little easier to say, “He can't stay in that house alone.”

Bruce watches him a little longer, then stands, pressing a hand to his side as he moves a little gingerly. To Jason's surprise, Bruce walks over to where Jason is sitting on the bed, reaching out to rest a hand on Jason's shoulder.

“I'm proud of you,” Bruce says, then heads out of his room.

The warm feeling in Jason's chest lasts until he falls asleep.

\--

The morning brings back the anxiety, that aching feeling in his stomach that he's being replaced by someone a little closer to what Bruce wants, but Jason swallows that down as he gets up and showers and heads downstairs. Bruce is still asleep, but Tim is already up, curled up in a chair looking swamped by Jason's clothes.

They normally have breakfast in the dining room, but Alfred clearly decided that wasn't a battle worth fighting, because he's setting a plate pulled high with scrambled eggs, sausages, and toast in front of him.

“Good morning, Master Jason,” Alfred says as he bustles back over to grab another plate and start piling food on it. “I was thinking you could show young Master Timothy the grounds after breakfast. The both of you would benefit from some time outside, I think.”

Given that Jason spends most of every night out on the rooftops if Gotham, that's rich, but Jason isn't going to argue with Alfred. Besides, the kid looks pretty pale.

“'Kay.” Jason glances over at Tim, who's staring at him while methodically putting eggs in his mouth. “You do anything for fun?” Jason asks. What is it that rich kids do? “Lacrosse? Water polo? Chess?”

“Photography,” Tim says, which, in hindsight, should have been obvious. “And I do karate.”

“You any good?”

Tim shrugs. “I'm small.”

“There are probably some martial arts that would be better for you, if you're worried about muscle. Something with joint locks doesn’t rely so much on strength, or you could try something with a weapon to give you more reach. Though you never want to go out with a weapon you can't control. You go out with a knife you can't control, suddenly whoever you're facing gets your knife, and then you're unarmed and they have a knife.”

Tim is gaping at him now and Jason’s skin feels a little tight, like he showed too much of the Crime Alley street kid even though he’s not ashamed of where he came from, fuck them he’s not, but then Tim smiles a little and asks, “What about a bo staff, or a baston, which would give you reach but wouldn’t give the other person a blade if you lost it?”

Jason considers that, then says, “It would still give them a weapon, if they get it from you.”

Tim shrugs. “Yeah, well, so would a pipe that they find on the ground, and being hit with something is far less likely to kill you than being stabbed.” He eats some more eggs, without seeming to notice that he’s doing it. “Maybe even a collapsible bo staff, so you can carry it around in a backpack or something and nobody would notice unless you have to go through a metal detector. Unless you could make it out of something other than metal, but I’m not sure…” He sticks some more eggs in his mouth. Around them, he says, “I’ll have to see if collapsible bo staffs can be made of something other than metal. Wood, maybe, though that seems too easy to break. Or maybe some sort of fiberglass. What do you think?”

Jason thinks the kid is way too smart and articulate for an eleven-year-old, but what he says is, “I know they sell fiberglass bo staffs, but I don’t know if they’re collapsible.”

“Or what about a naginata, even? I know men and women used to use them in feudal Japan, because they gave a big distance advantage. Though I’m not really sure where you would actually study or train with one. I can’t imagine there are many places in the US that teach them.”

“Aren’t they like fourteen feet long or something? Not really something inconspicuous.”

Tim’s expression falls for a second, and then he nods. “You’re right. An aspirational goal, then, rather than a realistic one.”

“You planning on taking to the streets to fight crime?”

Tim laughs and laughs, and Jason doesn’t understand why.

\--

Bruce is up by the time they get in from Jason showing Tim--wide-eyed and surprisingly good at climbing trees--around the property, and he smiles at them and says, "Tim, why don't you come join me in my office for a little bit."

Tim glances at Jason, looking a little apprehensive, then nods stalwartly and troops after Bruce towards Bruce's office. He looks even smaller next to Bruce, shoulders up by his ears, and Jason thinks, if he isn't allowed to stay I'm going to go steal him anyway. His parents don't deserve him.

Jason waits until Bruce's office door is closed before hurrying over to it on quiet feet, pressing his ear to the wood to try to make out what they're saying.

"--to talk to you about where you're going to stay, at least for the next three months until your parents get back." Bruce's voice is muffled through the solid wood door, but Jason can just make it out.

Bruce projects 

"Oh, no, sir," Tim says. Tim does not. "I'm fine at home."

"You might be able to take care of yourself, but you shouldn't have to. If you're okay with it, I'd like you to stay here, at least until your parents get home. How long will they be in Gotham after they get back from Thailand?"

There's silence, and Jason presses his ear even harder against the door, but then Tim says, "They're scheduled to be in Gotham for four days, and then they're leaving for Uttar Pradesh for 29 days and Nepal for an additional 49 days." There's a pause. "Do you need more of their schedule?"

Motherfucker. Motherfucking fucker.

"No," Bruce says, and he sounds calmer than Jason feels. "No, I think that's enough. Tim, what would you say to me taking you in more permanently, at least until who is actually taking care of you can be sorted out."

"But Jason--you already have enough kids."

And that right there is a supremely fucking weird thing to say.

"Jason is okay with you staying here with us, and I do have the capacity to take care of another child. So. What do you say?"

"I…" Some more silence. "You wouldn't be able to keep me. My parents have a lot of money."

"I have more. But you let me worry about that. If you want to stay here, you'll stay."

Jason slips away then, to finish reading  _ Much Ado About Nothing _ . He doesn’t need to hear Tim’s answer. He can guess.

\--

Alfred goes and gets Tim’s stuff--and apparently Tim is their next door neighbor, which is really weird, even though ‘next door’ still means like twenty minutes away--and Jason stays holed up in his room reading Shakespeare, because he’s kind of terrified about Tim coming to live with them, and he really doesn’t want Tim to know that.

Because it’s not the kid that his home life is fucked, or that Bruce wants to adopt him. It’s just that, well.

Jason’s not sure how long it’s going to be before Bruce kicks him out the way he did Dickhead. He just has to hope it’s once he’s eighteen, so he’s not totally fucked. He’ll figure something out, but...he’d rather not. He likes living here and likes Bruce and loves Alfie like the grandfather he always wanted, but better at cooking than a grandfather of his would probably be.

And he doesn’t want to go back on the streets. That’d be shit.

It’s the afternoon when there’s a knock on the door, and Jason rolls himself out of bed, sticking a finger in the book so he doesn’t lose his place. His bookmark is somewhere in the folds of his bed, which Alfred would be disappointed at for how much of a mess it is. He opens the door, and he’s not sure who he was expecting, but he’s not really surprised that it’s Tim standing there, clutching on to the strap of his backpack, eyes really wide.

He looks young.

“Sorry,” Tim says, reaching up to chew on his cuticle. “I just, um. Can I just. Were you scared? Not that you’re--I mean, you probably weren’t scared. But I.”

Shit.

Jason steps back, saying, “Yeah, come in.” He waits until Tim shuffles into the room, then shuts the door behind him. Tim looks spooked as fuck, and frankly, Jason kind of can’t blame him. “Just like, sit or something. C’mon, you look like you’re about to fall over.”

The kid actually looks like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin, but that seemed unpolitic to say, and Jason can be diplomatic. Occasionally. Mostly with scared as shit little kids. He’s always liked helping kids, and always been hardest on the fuckheads who go after kids.

Once the kid sits down at Jason’s desk chair with his bag pulled onto his lap, Jason flops back down on his bed, smoothing down the blanket around him so he can pretend it’s less of a wrinkled mess. “Yeah,” Jason says finally, even though he doesn’t really want to say it. “Yeah, I was scared shitless for the first, I don’t know, year or something. Thought he was going to throw me back in some shit group home. But he didn’t. And Alfred is the best. He’s so much the best.”

“How often is Mr. Wayne actually--” Tim bites his lip, shakes his head. “Never mind, that’s a dumb question. Do you actually see him a lot? He must be--he works a lot, right? So he’s not usually here.”

The last part is worded like a statement, which Jason doesn’t really get at first, because Bruce might not be the best whatever-the-fuck-he-is, but one thing he is is around. Physically, at least. Emotionally, he’s…

Well he’s Bruce.

But then Jason remembers, fuck, the kid’s parents are never there.

“He is around. Less so during the week, because he has work and, you know, sleep and shit, but he’s around most of the time. Goes on trips every once in a while, but most of the time he drags me with him, if he can. They’re mostly boring, but we got to see these cool waterfalls in Iceland.”

Tim blinks wide eyes at him. “You go on trips with him?”

“Yeah.”

“But children aren’t--we’re not appropriate to bring on trips. We need to be watched, and we--we get in the way, and we can’t be taken certain places, and nobody  _ wants  _ to have children with them.”

“Your parents are  _ fucked up _ .” Tim looks like he’s going to protest, so Jason says, louder, “I’m serious, that’s fucked up. I mean, my dad was a piece of shit, but at least my mom always wanted me, and--what the fuck? Is this some weird rich person shit?” Tim doesn’t say anything, and Jason realizes that was mean, so he shakes his head, saying, “Never mind, pretend I didn’t say that. Bruce is good. You’ll be fine.”

“I just don’t want to be in the way.”

“You’ll be the fourth person living in a massive fucking mansion. You won’t be in the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few other related stories I want to write for this, though I'll have to see if that ever happens. Maybe once my workload is less godawful I'll get around to it.


End file.
